


Welcome to Purple Hyacinth High School

by TheLiteraryOnion



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Cafeteria fights at some point, Crack, Fluff, This will be interesting, brace yourselves kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26419795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLiteraryOnion/pseuds/TheLiteraryOnion
Summary: High school. Those two words alone could make anyone shiver, have flashbacks, or just straight up vomit. But for some odd reason, this high school was different. Yes, it still sucked, yes it still had demon teachers, and yes the cafeteria food still sucked. But this high school has a secret or two up its sleeve.The secret? A handful of staff members who just happen to be tied up in more drama than the students themselves.Ladies, gentlefolk, and esteemed bastards, welcome to Purple Hyacinth High School, or PH High for short. We hope you enjoy your stay.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White, William Hawkes/Kym Ladell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	1. Meet Your Teachers

**Author's Note:**

> To my wonderful friends in the discord server. Enjoy being depicted as hopeless teenagers who want to cry <3

If there’s one thing a student should be warned about before setting foot into PH High, it’s the teachers. It’s not a bad warning, just a brace yourself. There are four teachers you need to know about, to be specific.  
  
First on the list of MCKTs, most commonly known teachers, is Mr. Hawkes, the Band and General Music director. I’d be a lying to say that he isn’t the kind of teacher stupid freshmen (and even the upperclassmen, let’s be honest) crush on. Which is a whole other level of disturbing when, as a member of PH Marching Band, I view him as a father figure or a crazy cousin. He’s in general a very casual person, so it’s easy to get to know him. Mr. Hawkes is one of the chillest teachers, but also not? Then again, that’s just because Marching Band is insane. Not only is he in charge of Band, Music, and the Literature Club, but he’s also one of the sponsors of the Drama Club, for unknown reasons. I personally believe it’s because Ms. Ladell is the head sponsor, but that’s tea for another day.

Speaking of Ms. Ladell, one can never go wrong with a crazy Drama, Choir, and Theatre Tech teacher. Ms. Ladell is a relatively young teacher, but somehow manages to make classes fun AND educational, which is a rare gift. You wouldn’t think Theatre Tech to be a very difficult class, but let me tell you, one of my friends, Celeste, almost had a mental breakdown the first week. Don’t worry, though, she got better. On top of being a kickass teacher, she also runs Drama Club, GSA, and assists with drumline in Marching Band, oddly enough. I have exactly no problems with that because she can write damn good cadences. Although, they are _hell_ to play. Just one thing she and Mr. Hawkes have in common, I guess. Though, let’s be real, they have almost nothing in common. Ms. Ladell lets everyone call her Kym, whereas Mr. Hawkes almost gave a kid detention for calling him “Hawkes”. I could go on, but some of the differences are harder to pick out.

Next, the teacher every horny student simps for: Mr. White, the Art, Literature, and Literary Analysis teacher. I haven’t met him yet unlike Kym and Mr. Hawkes, so I should be okay in his class. Art and literature are just fun things to me, I guess, and I’ve heard he’s not as stoned as our middle school art teacher. You know those teachers with mad joke skills and somehow find a way to make busy work fun? That’s what Mr. White’s been described as. Mr. White is apparently very relaxed with deadlines and is one of the teachers that you can kind of vent to. He’s the kind of guy that’d be your friend before your teacher. I heard he even lets his favorite students call him Kieran. The only problem is that _students won’t stop thirsting over the damn man_ . Every single student that asks me who I have for period 1 responds with a “Oooh you got the hot teacher! I’m so jealous! I couldn’t fit it in my schedule. I mean, I don’t like art, but Mr. White is a piece of art work himself.” It makes me uncomfortable. It probably makes him uncomfortable. It is just. Uncomfortable. What’s even more uncomfortable is the size of our girl’s swim team. Mr. White is the swim coach for both the guys and girls teams, and our girl’s team is at _least_ three times the boy’s team. To say that I cried out of pure disgust when I found out is an understatement. He apparently also does fencing, which is pretty cool.

Last but most certainly not least, Dr. Sinclair, sponsor of the Criminal Science Club, GSA, and Debate team. The classes she’s paid to teach are Forensic Sciences and Law for older students, and AP Civics for freshmen. If that’s not enough, she also teaches hand to hand combat and coaches wrestling, which I personally find badass. Most of the upperclassmen over exaggerate when talking about her and end up painting a picture of a tall, brooding man that will almost definitely kick you if you miss a single assignment. I met her once and was quite shocked to find her as a somewhat petite red-headed woman with golden eyes. She seemed like a really understanding and all around nice person when I met her. Apparently, there is a reason why students hate her so much. Her grading is ruthless, and _no_ student has ever gotten a perfect score on a test from her before, at least that’s what I’ve heard. Some of the more ambitious students take as long as they can on a test, but no matter what they do, Dr. Sinclair _always_ catches something. I personally enjoy that kind of grading. Not only that, but she explains what you got wrong, and, get this, _actually helps you study_. It’s almost like she’s a teacher or something! Despite what the other kids say, Dr. Sinclair seems pretty cool.

Now here’s the thing: these are mostly just rumors. Today is our first day back, and _my_ first day in high school, what with being a freshie and all. I won’t lie, I’m horrified. Somehow, I managed to catch all four MCKTs in my schedule. Yay for freshman year.. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually pretty excited, too. If this doesn’t go horribly wrong, then it could end up being a lot of fun! I just need to figure out a way to pass Ms. Davenport’s honor’s biology class. I’ve heard that she’s strict as hell, and doesn’t take any sort of excuse. Which sucks on my part considering my, uh, _habit_ of not doing homework. And I pray that I can remember to do my math homework. Mr. Randall is _not_ someone I want to mess with. Maybe I’ll be able to bribe him with coffee. 

I take a deep breath. _If there’s a god out there, I hope he doesn’t kill me today,_ I think to myself as I get dressed.

5:30am. What an ungodly hour to wake up. And yet, here I am preparing for my day at 5:53.

  
  
The rest of the morning goes smoothly. I eat breakfast, pack my bag, brush my teeth, get my glasses, and head out the door. I slip my Purple Hyacinth Phantoms hoodie on. The morning is pretty cold considering it’s august.

My bus picks me up, and before I know it, I’m on my way to heaven in hell. I swallow down my anxiety. Let’s all hope that my teachers aren’t as horrific as they seem! Then again, when has hoping ever helped. Good luck kid! And welcome to PH High!


	2. Meet Your Classmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh kids are mean and lowkey poisoning <3
> 
> Btw, folx mention in this chap, you know who you are!
> 
> Enjoy :D

My first period is Mr. White’s class, which isn’t too hard for me to find since it’s close to where the band room is. The scent of fresh water color and something like hyacinths floods my nose as I get closer to the open door. Ironic considering our school’s name.

High school officially starts once my foot crosses into that class. I take a moment to savor what last little bit of innocence I have and step into the bright classroom and hopefully an even brighter future.

As soon as I do, I almost immediately regret it. Almost. The moment I cross over into the rather comfortable looking classroom, I end up getting bathed with a cup of paint water. A shrill scream echoes throughout the room. The deep watered-down color of wine soaks my hair and clothes and starts to drip down my face and glasses. I gasp from the sudden contact with water and accidentally inhale some, causing me to double over and kneel coughing.

If you don’t know what paint water tastes like, allow me to enlighten you. You know the smell of fresh acrylic paint? You know how it’s nice and clean but kind of fumy? That, but 100x worse and _in your mouth._ I cough up fumes and deep, purple-red water, fist at my chest, left elbow at my mouth. 

It doesn’t take long to notice the person holding the now empty cup. Of course. Before I can stop myself, I inhale sharply and shout “FUCK YOU!” I can’t help it sometimes. The words just spew out of my mouth, the same way that water came flying out of the cup and onto me.

  
  
I hear a voice from the kid with the cup. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” it says. The voice sounds masculine, but I don’t really want to assume their pronouns. Yeah they might have ended my life, but misgendering anyone for any reason is never okay. “You, uh, you good?”

All I can do is glare up in response and continue hacking. _What do they think?_

“Ohhh god you aren’t. Um. Uh,” I feel the person in front of me turn around to face the opposite side of the room, “does anyone know where Mr. White went?”

I hear a chorus of “no”s and “I wish”s follow soon after. Great. Spectacular. Gorgeous.

I haven’t recovered much. If I weren’t coughing so much, I’d ask if the paint was toxic, but I still can’t get so much as a word out of my mouth. “Call,” I cough out, “poison control!”

“OH FUCK!” Another voice, I think a boy’s but, again I don’t want to assume, calls out. “THAT’S THE CADMIUM SHIT ISN’T IT?” 

A higher pitched voice responds, “Yeah? Sorry…” They sound so sad that they used cadmium and cobalt paint that I wanted to stop coughing and give them a hug. Alas, I could not stop hacking up a lung and give them a hug. 

A split second later, I feel someone behind me. The figure quickly kneels next to me, and starts to rub my back. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

_Yeah, I’m just dying for fu- wait a minute._ This person’s voice is _much_ deeper than the rest of the class’s. I glance over to my side and am greeted by the infamous Mr. White, in all of his glory. You know, I’ve seen plenty of weird teachers, but never have I once seen a teacher with a manbun. 

I shake my head helplessly and try to refrain from breathing in anymore paint water. If I swallow, then that would probably help the coughing, but poison me further. Honestly though, a little poisoning didn’t sound too bad right now.

  
  
Mr. White looks up at the rest of the class. “Would anyone care to explain why this student is drenched in purple and choking,” he says, his voice monotone. By the tone he’s using, it sounds like this kind of thing is ordinary around here.

The person who gave me an impromptu paint bath clears their throat. “I, uhh, I might’ve gotten scared and threw the paint water I was carrying to the sink on her,” they mumble.

  
  
 _Oh, this bitch-_ I stop coughing enough to yell, “What?!”

  
  
I hear laughter and snorting erupt throughout the classroom. This kid could have ended my life because he got scared. Yes, I _am_ going to be petty about it.

  
  
Mr. White stands up beside me and sighs. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown man so close to just lying down on the floor and dying. “Vincentt, you did this, you get to explain to poison control what happened. Patricia and Lexi, since you two seem to find this _so_ funny, you’re cleaning up the mess.” I hear a loud groan from where laughter used to be. “Kio and Aleena, since the paint water was yours, would you please take her to the nurse and get her fixed up?” he continues, unfazed by the objections of the other two. 

By the time he’s done handing out orders, I’ve regained control over my breathing. I also swallowed, so yeah. Not swallowing after a coughing fit is difficult, and I don’t like difficult things. If I die, I die, I guess. I stand up, and see two girls nod their heads, get up from their seats, and swiftly make their way towards me.

  
  
The two seem to be about the same age, maybe a year apart. The younger one is around five inches taller than the other, who’s my height. The shorter one kind of stares at Mr. White with The Look. You know, that “I’m so attracted to you, but it’s kind of illegal” look. In my near death experience, I’d forgotten whose class I was in. _Of course this place is full of simps. I can't believe I forgot._

 _  
_The taller girl holds out her hand to me. “Hey! I’m Aleena! Sorry about the paint…” she says, rubbing the back of her neck.  
  
I shrug and accept the handshake. “Eh, it’s not your fault,” I say, glaring at the other kid, Vincentt, I think.

  
  
Aleena leads me down the hallway to the front of the building where the nurse’s office is.  
The nurse gives me a quick check up, just to make sure that I’m not going to die immediately, and makes me rinse out my mouth and drink some water. Afterwards, she sends me over to the bathroom where a shower and bin are waiting. The bin is filled with tons of extra painting clothes. I sign thank you in ASL, and look around. Wasn’t there another girl supposed to be here? Dude… _what if she was staring so hard at Mr. White that she forgot to follow._ I want to go home.

  
  
“The clothes are sorted by size,” Aleena says. Her pleasant attitude drops for a second. Her foot finds its way behind the other, and she rubs her arm, refusing to make eye contact for a split second. “Sorry they aren’t very nice. And uh, sorry for ruining your clothes.”

  
  
I shrug again. “You didn’t ruin my clothes! It’s all good! Besides, I like purple, for the most part,” I say, trying to convince both me and her that it’s fine. Shit happens sometimes. I’m just a little sad that it got all over my “Not Today Satan” shirt. Though, I’ll admit it looks pretty cool now with the paint.

  
  
I walk over to the bin filled with t-shirts and sweatpants. It’s mostly school spirit stuff: PH Phantoms are lilac purple and maroon. Our school colors honestly rock. They’re very pleasing to the eye. Happy we didn’t end up with something stupid like red and black.

I yank out a t-shirt and an old pair of jeans and head over to the bathroom. Reeking of paint and something that smells suspiciously like saliva is _not_ how I want to start my day, much less my year.

  
  
I double check to make sure the door is locked and step into the shower. Luckily, there’s clean towels and rags, so I won’t be completely wet the entire day.

  
  
As I start to ease into my shower, my mind begins rolling. What kind of paint did that one kid say it was? Cadmium? Yeah, I’m probably going to die. I’ll at least be sent to the hospital. If it was oil-based paint, then I shouldn’t be able to aliving right now. Oh god. _It’s happening._ I can feel myself starting to get more confused. Uhhh, crap. No no no no. Ummm. No. Uh. _Crap._

I finish washing up, making sure to scrub my body thoroughly. The paint didn’t leave any blisters or burns, so that’s a good sign, I think. I’m sort of dry, but otherwise okay.

After I emerge, clean and already feeling better, I get clearance to go back to class in order to fill the poison control operator in. Clad in old painting clothes, I head back into the world, unprepared, but willing to go in head first nonetheless.  
  
I wish I had gone in at least a little prepared or maybe just not head first. Because I metaphorically hit my nose. Then again, I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the scene I walk into.

  
  
The room is in utter chaos, with two people on the floor, screaming while furiously mopping up paint water, Kio’s waiting outside the bathroom for me. She’s staring at Mr. White, sketchbook and pencil in hand. Aleena is running back and forth with wet and dry paper towels, trying to clean up any excess water. A handful of other students are gathered around the scene, doing what they can to help or get in the way. The most _interesting_ thing happening in the classroom has to be the scene at Mr. White’s desk. The kid who nearly drowned me was standing next to Mr. White as Mr. White held the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“No, no, I would never leave this class unsupervised-” he says, trying to keep his voice as level as possible while outwardly panicking.

“A student simply slipped, and spilled some paint water on another student. The other student accidentally swallowed some paint, and we need to know if she’s okay,” he says. Mr. White looks around the classroom, searching for something. His eyes land on me, and he gestures me over to where he is.

Oh god. Ohhhhh god. Ah. Oh no. I hate it when teachers point or wave at me. It immediately triggers the “I’m in trouble mindset”. _Why does it have to be me?_

I walk over to where Mr. White stands with Vincentt. I think I would feel a little better about the situation if Vincentt didn’t look so close to bursting into tears from laughter. Mr. White’s expression makes me feel no better, considering how he looks absolutely panicked. We need an adultier adult here. This adult isn’t working. 

Vincentt sighs and holds up a notebook and pencil. “Alright, freshie,” he says, “Poison control’s got a few questions, ‘kay?” 

Why is this kid so bubbly. I want to strangle him. 

I nod. It makes sense. Poison Control probably wants to know how long I have to live. I hope I can tell my goldfish goodbye.

Vincintt clicks his pen and looks down at his notepad. “Okay, how old are you, how much do you weigh, and how are you feeling?”

From somewhere in the sea of people, I hear someone shout, “Oh my god, Vincentt, you can’t just ask a girl how much she weighs!” 

If this wasn’t a situation where I could end up in the hospital, I would have probably laughed. Alas, my throat is sore, and I’m scared. 

“I’m 14, I weigh 90 pounds, and my stomach hurts a little, but I’m fine, I guess,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. This is gonna be fun.

He nods and hums, before looking back up. “Aight, do you know how much you swallowed?” 

_Well, I don’t know you’re the one who threw it in my mouth._ I groan and try to remember. “Uh, about a half a mouth full, I think,” I say.

“‘Kay, cool. Well, obviously not cool. But, you get it,” he says, holding out his notebook for Mr. White. 

Mr. White practically snatches the notebook like it’s gold. He mouths a quick “Thanks, Vincentt, I owe you,” before reading off the list of things to the operator. 

No. God why. No. Vincentt just blushed. I’m not blind. Dear reader, I don’t think you understand. _Man Bun #1 likes Man Bun #2._ I want to go home again.Today has been too much. I dislike it.

Mr. White writes down a few things, says thank you and goodbye. He looks like he’s about to cry tears of relief, and I honestly cannot blame him. I, too, want to cry.

“What’d poison control say? Is everything going to be okay?”

He purses his lips, “Well….”

My face and stomach drop. “Oh my god, I’m not going to live through high school, am I?”

“You’ll be fine. You should drink some water. That’s all poison control said. If you throw up or anything, go see the nurse immediately, she’ll call an ambulance, and uh, well good luck. But you should be okay,” he says.

I put a hand on my chest and sigh the heaviest sigh I’ve ever sighed. “OH THANK GOD! I think,” I say. 

“You think?” he says.

“Well, I’ve heard that high school sucks. I’m not all that excited considering I almost died the second it started.”

Mr. White laughs. At least half of the class pauses. God damnit simps. “Most high schools suck. I can promise you that this one doesn’t, though. Things like this usually happen once in a blue moon, so you won’t have to worry about much else happening. Have high hopes, is all I’m saying. You won’t be let down ,” he says with a soft smile.

For some reason, that doesn’t really put me at ease. But maybe, just maybe, this could be fun. I can’t wait to find out.


	3. kjahdf;jkads NOT DEAD YET

THIS ISN'T DEAD YET I SWEAR IT ON MY LIFE!

School's kicking my ass, so updates might not be every Friday. I'll just put up chapters whenever I can! Please, don't drop out of PH High! We'd really appreciate it! Love you and thanks! <3


	4. Dr. Sinclair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Sinclair. That's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was dead, but now I'm not-

“Oh come on, don’t lie to the poor girl, Kieran. Sounds like she’s had a hard enough day as it is,” says a new voice. A tall woman leans against the door with her arms crossed. Her long, wine-colored hair is pulled back in a ponytail that rests neatly on her navy blue vest, which is tucked along with a white dress shirt into brown trousers. She could definitely be a school board member, and I’m fairly certain she is. Until I remember that I’d already met her once. She’d introduced herself as-

“Dr. Sinclair! What a pleasure it is to have you here!” he says, smiling just a little too wide. I squint, trying to make out what kind of relationship they have. That smile kind of scares me, I won’t lie. 

“Hello, subordinate. Care to tell me what the screaming was about?” she asks, making her way into the classroom.

“No, not particularly,” Mr. White responds, clearly trying to relax. If you look really hard, you can actually see how tense he is.

You know how “???” has a sound that you can’t quite identify? Yeah, I felt the frequency of that sound come out of my mouth. As to why he wouldn’t tell her I don’t know. I also don’t know why she called him “subordinate”, and I’m fairly certain I do not _want_ to know.

“I’m sorry to sell you out Mr. White, but--” a student in a grey sweatshirt starts.

“You wouldn’t--” Mr. White starts to say while glaring at them, but he doesn’t get the chance to finish.

“Someone spilled paint water on a freshie and she swallowed some. We all freaked out, including Mr. White, but she won’t die probably,” they say, looking perfectly smug.

Dr. Sinclair looks like she’s restraining herself from snapping Mr. White’s neck and laughing at the same time. Which I shouldn’t find hilarious, but I do anyways. Mr. White shoots a small glare that student’s way.

“Is that so, _Mr. White_?” she asks in an accusing tone. I kinda wish I had popcorn right now. Deep down, I know it’s not morally correct to enjoy a potential fight that I sort of started. But who can blame me? This shit is intriguing. 

“I was out of the classroom when this happened and--” he rushes out.

“It’s as simple as you lost the bet.” The smile on her face is so smug, that I can physically _feel_ the “I’m fucked” vibe radiating from Mr. White. 

“Dr. Sinclair,” Vincentt mumbles, “if you don’t mind me asking,... _what bet_?”

“Please, don-,” Mr. White starts. He can’t finish in time before Dr. Sinclair starts to speak. This man can _not_ catch a break today.

“Mr. Hawkes, Ms. Ladell, and I all bet that one of Mr. White’s freshmen would have a near death experience within the first day. And not only was it the first day,” she says, turning her attention back to her coworker and pinching the bridge of her nose, “it was within the first _hour_.”

I almost start choking again. For some odd reason, it feels like the stars align and a joke about something called 43 was just made. And the person who made said joke is cringing at having to explain it. Huh. I shake off the feeling and return to reality. 

“Look, lesson learned, don’t leave my kids unsupervised at all, I understand my mistake,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender.

I glance over at Vincentt and mouth “Why did you ask? Why would you do that?”  
  
He just shrugs in return.  
  
A student with black eyeshadow and dark hair clears her throat. Judging by how comfortable she is with getting their attention, the girl’s either stoned or knows the teachers well. “While we love to hear whatever kind of marital disputes you two are having, we have to go,” she says. 

Sure enough, the bell rings a few seconds later.   
  
Everyone goes off, getting their bags and wishing the teachers a good day, as if this was just a normal day. A few other freshmen and I are left behind in shock.   
  
Dr. Sinclair sees us standing in confusion. “Why are you still here? Get to your next class!” she says, ushering us out of the classroom. 

As if in a really bad story, we all rush out of the classroom. Class one, and I want to go home. Class two, and let’s find out.   
  
The song _Livin’ on a Prayer_ wiggles its way into my mind. Let’s pray that my prayers will be answered.


End file.
